Collected Poems 1947-1997 - Ginsberg Allen (книги серии онлайн .TXT) 📗

                    Blackness ringed with lightbulbs.

Blue Newark airport,

                    Lights at the field edge,

                         Robot towers blazon’d Eastern Air TWA

                         above the lavender bulbed runway

                    across the barrage of car bridges—

I was born there in Newark

      Public Service sign of the twenties

          visible miles away through smoke

               gray night over electric fields

My aunts and uncles died in hospitals,

are buried in graves surrounded by Railroad Tracks,

      tombed near Winking 3 Ring Ballantine Ale’s home

          where Western Electric has a Cosmic plant,

      Pitt-Consoles breathes forth fumes

          acrid above Flying Service tanks

          Where superhighway rises over Monsanto

               metal structures moonlit

          Pulaski Skyway hanging airy black in heaven my childhood

          neighbored with gigantic harbor stacks,

                         steam everywhere

      Blue Star buses skimming skyroads

          beside th’antennae mazes

                         brilliant by Canalside—

Empire State’s orange shoulders lifted above the Hell,

New York City buildings glitter

                    visible over Palisades’ trees

               Guys From War put tiger in yr Tank—

          Radio crawling with Rockmusic youngsters,

                         STOP—PAY TOLL

          let the hitchhiker off in the acrid Mist—

      Blue uniformed attendants rocking on their heels in green booths

          Light parade everywhere

      Cliff rooms, balconies & giant nineteenth century schools,

          reptilian trucks on Jersey roads

Manhattan star-spread behind Ft. Lee cliffside

               Evening lights reflected across Hudson water—

          brilliant diamond-lantern’d Tunnel

               Whizz of bus-trucks shimmer in Ear

                                   over red brick

                    under Whitmanic Yawp Harbor here

                    roll into Man city, my city, Mannahatta

                                   Lower East Side ghosted &

      grimed with Heroin, shit-black from Edison towers

                                   on East River’s rib—

Green-hatted doormen awaken the eve

                                   in statuary-niched yellow lobbies—

      zephyrous canyons brightlit, gray stone Empire State

                                   too small to be God

          lords it over sweet Macy’s & Seafood City

               by junkie Grant Hotel—

Ho Ho turn right by the Blackman who crosses the street

                    lighting his cigarette, lone on asphalt

                         as the Lord in Nebraska—

      Down 5th Avenue, brr—the irregular spine

                              of streetlights—

                    traffic signals all turned red at once—

                    insect lamps blink in dim artery

          replicated down stone vales to Union Square—

                         In silence wait to see your home

      Cemented asphalt, wire roof-banked,

                    canyoned, hived & churched with mortar,

                         mortised with art gas—

                         passing Ginsberg Machine Co.

th’axhead antique Flatiron

      Building looms, old photographs

                         parked in the mind—

      Cannastra your 21st Street lofts dark no more raw

                                   meat law business

      Tonite Naomi your 18th Westside Stalinesque

                    madstreet’s blocked by a bus,

      Dusty your 16th (drunk in yr party dress) walls

                    emptiness Hudson River perspectiv’d

      Dali in London? Joe Army yr brokenbone Churches

                                   stand brown in time—

          How quiet Washington Monument!

      & fairy youth turns head downstreet

          crossing 5th Avenue under trafficlite,

      doorman playing poodledog

          on brilliant-lit sidewalk No. 1.

      an old reporter w/ brown leather briefcase

          leaves the shiny-pillared apartment—

Gee it’s a Miracle to be back on this street

          where strange guy mustache

               stares in the windowshield—

      Lovely the Steak Sign! bleeps on & off

               beneath Woman’s prison—

      Sixth Avenue bus back-window bright glass

               Lady in kerchief leans backward,

      corner Whalen’s Drugs, an old Beret familiar face